


You Are The Legend (And The Legend Is True)

by Taupefox59



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Abuse of Internet Memes, Crack, Established Relationship, Just silly fluff, M/M, Pranks, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:52:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/pseuds/Taupefox59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Mitchers/Britchell crack. Summary and tags will be updated as needed.<br/>Title taken from the Aquabats song "THE LEGEND IS TRUE!"</p><p>Chapter 1 - MMM WATCHA SAY<br/>Chapter 2 - FANGTASTIC GLOVELETTES<br/>Chapter 3 - Mitchell, Take a Freaking Shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. MMM WATCHA SAY

**Author's Note:**

> I have had many technical troubles of late. I may or may not have ended up with the only music available being a folder of dubstep remixes of Imogen Heap's Hide and Seek.
> 
> This is un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know. Constructive criticism always appreciated!
> 
>  
> 
> (Important knowledge, for those who don't know the meme: 
> 
> This happened: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYIb-acZwk4
> 
> Then this happened: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmd1qMN5Yo0
> 
> And the rest is Internet History.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mitchell is angst-ridden, and Anders is the meme-savvy boyfriend who pranks the crap out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had many technical troubles of late. I may or may not have ended up with the only music available being a folder of dubstep remixes of Imogen Heap's Hide and Seek.
> 
> Not Beta'd. Let me know if you catch anything!
> 
>  
> 
> (Important knowledge, for those who don't know the meme:
> 
> This happened: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYIb-acZwk4
> 
> Then this happened: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmd1qMN5Yo0
> 
> And the rest is Internet History.)

It started, because Mitchell, when left to his own devices, liked to brood, and Anders, when left to his own devices, liked to be a singular arsehole.

 

This was a problem, because Mitchell thought that he had Very Deep Problems, and he did not appreciate it when people made light of his Very Noble Struggles, and Anders had a complete inability to take anything seriously if he felt that someone was using Inappropriate Capitals To Emphasize The Importance Of Something.

Anders had a tendency to be rather insensitive like that.

It was some months after they had both admitted their respective Secret Identities to each other; Anders had explained his god powers, even if they didn’t seem to work all that well on the undead. Mitchell had admitted to his vampiric nature, and had been completely flabbergasted when Anders first question had been “So, have you killed a lot of people, then?”

Mitchell had been honest - he didn’t know how many people he was responsible for, not truly. He only knew there were far too many in the past, and he would do everything in his power to prevent more in his future.

Anders had taken that moment, then, waiting in silence until Mitchell had gathered his courage and attempted eye contact. With a steady gaze and a steady voice, he wrapped a hand around Mitchells wrist and said a string of words that had been imprinted in his mind for as long as he could remember - they’d been there before Bragi, before he’d started JPR, before Elizabet had shot through, before everything had started to shatter - You just have to keep trying. Because trying is the best that anyone can do.

Anders wasn’t entirely sure what was running through Mitchell’s head after that, but they sat in silence for a long while. (If Anders was a bit softer that night, or Mitchell clung a bit tighter, well, neither of them mentioned it.)

But that had been months ago.

For the most part, everything had been fine. They had their disagreements, but after fights Mitchell would go on long walks and Anders would drink until he passed out. By the time Mitchell got back and Anders woke up, they were usually calm enough to come to some sort of agreement.

Something had changed, and Anders didn’t know what it was. Mitchell had become withdrawn, avoiding leaving the flat, making excuses to flee from any kind of social event. It had hit the point when even Olaf was commenting on the lack of appearance.

Anders knew that something had to be done.

When he brought it up, Mitchell had looked at him with dead eyes, and said something about being poison, bringing trouble to everyone around him, then rambled for a bit about having delusions of humanity and how he could never possibly atone for all of the terrible things he’d done. It was all terribly angst-ridden and self-effacing. After Mitchell had said his piece, he gone off to sit on the floor in a dark corner and stare at his hands for a while.

Anders poured himself a very generous shot of vodka before wandering over. He nudged Mitchell with his foot.

“You’re acting like if you’re in a room, everyone who enters is going to die.”

Mitchell had replied by saying “You’re acting like they won’t.”

 

And that was how it started.  


Anders didn’t give a flying fuck about chess, but he knew how to plan a long game. He knew how to build the setting, ask the right questions to get people going exactly where he wanted them to be. Sometimes it took Bragi.

Sometimes it took a shipment of three hundred stuffed teddy bears with motion-activated voice capabilities.

The bears were small, about eight centimetres tall and three centimetres wide. Anders could fit three of them on the palm of his open hand. He knew they wouldn’t go unnoticed though. Not only were there simply too many of them, but Mitchell was also very observant, even in his current depressed state of self-inflicted martyrdom.

So Anders lied. Very delicately.

It had taken the Bragi-fueled assistance of several mortals - he’d known better than to get his family involved in anything like this. They created far too many uncontrolled variables. He’d found a hen party in the early afternoon - so they were all reasonably sober- and convinced them to help set everything up. It had taken judicious distribution of mp3 clips, and then there had been an hour of carefully setting everything in place, which was followed by everyone ducking and weaving their way out so as to not set any more of the beasties off.

By the end of the afternoon, they were all fairly sick of the song, no matter how much they may have liked it at the beginning. 

Anders was ecstatic.

 

 

Mitchell had gotten off work, and decided to walk home. He couldn’t help but feel guilty at the thought - home - and who was he, slipping in to someone else’s space. What could he possibly give in return for what he was taking? He had nothing but a lifetime failures, piling up in one place until he would break under the weight of them and flee. How long until he started making mistakes here in Auckland? How long before he dragged Anders down with him? The worst part was that he knew all of this, but he was still too selfish to leave. No, he would stay for as long as he could. Until Anders realized how much of a liability he was. Or he fucked up again. It was only a matter of time.

When he opened the door to the apartment, he was met with nearly complete silence.

Something was wrong. Anders should have been home, and Anders at home meant noise - either his constant background soundtrack of house or the television on. There would be the sound of, anything, the sound of someone taking up space.

Today there was nothing.

Moving slowly, Mitchell picked his way through the hallway towards the living room.

He turned the corner and...Anders was home? Sitting on the couch, reading a book, with a bottle of vodka between his legs.

“Anders?” Mitchell asked, straightening when he realized that he had crouched down into defensive stance.

Anders looked up from his book with a guileless smile. “Hey Mitchell! You’re home. How was work?”

Mitchell waited a moment, still out of sorts. He didn’t know what to make of the situation. Finally coming to the conclusion that sometimes the best plan was to just roll with the situation until answers revealed themselves, Mitchell decided to just go with it. “Work was work,” he said.

“Want a drink?” Anders asked, casually raising the vodka bottle in offering.

“Sure.” Mitchell replied, still cautious. He stepped away from the corner and then it started.

“MMMM WHATCHA SAYYY!!”

Mitchell spun, trying to find the source of the electronic voice, only for it to start again, from somewhere else.

 

“MMMM WHATCHA SAYYY”

“MMMM WHA-”  
“MMMM-”

“MMMM-”

“MMMM-”

  
  


It was everywhere, every time he moved, another it started again. It was a cacophony of overlapping minor tones, building every second.

“MMMM WATCHA SAYYY!!! MMM THAT YOU ONLY MEANT WELL, WELL OF COURSE YOU DIIIID!!!!”

Anders was probably setting some off too, as he’d nearly fallen off the couch laughing.

“MMM WATCHA SAYYY!!! MMM THAT IT’S ALL FOR THE BEST, OF COURSE IT IS!!!”

“Anders, what is going on?” Mitchell said, nearly having to shout over the combined volume of the music. 

“MMM WATCHA SAYYY!!! MMM THAT IT’S JUST WHAT WE NEED, YOU DECIDED THIS

“If you think someone’s going to die every time you walk into a room, you need the right soundtrack!” Anders said, still cackling. 

“MMM WATCHA SAYYY!!! MMM WHAT DID YOU SAY!!!!”

Mitchell stared, then it clicked. “I’m going to kill you,” he said, unable to keep the smile from his face. 

To which Anders could only reply “MMM WATCHA SAY!!!!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to remember how to write crack, because everything keeps turning into Serious Fic on me lately. 
> 
> So, if you've got a prompt, be it funny or fluffy or not, pop on over to [my tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vaguetauperamblings) and let me know!
> 
> (Even if it's not particularly for this fandom, if there's something you want to see, let me know and I'll see if/what I can do with it.)
> 
> You're all beautiful people!


	2. Fangtastic Glovelettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders finds some gloves that make him think of Mitchell.
> 
> ...Well. "Glovelettes", anyway.

 

Mitchell knew better than to tell anyone, but he was secretly in love with winter in Auckland. It never got truly cold, there would only be a scant handful of mornings that would begin with sunlight cresting over the hills to slowly melt the light sheen of frost that had settled. It was far more common for days to begin with grey light spilling through the valleys, as the sun was diffused by the unwavering damp of coastal cloud-cover. No one would think twice about someone wandering the streets in four layers (a base layer, one for being inside, one for being outside and one for rain).

He’d woken late - something he was entirely happy to blame on Anders for keeping them both up late the night before - and found the flat to be surprisingly empty. Usually late mornings consisted of several disjointed and largely unsuccessful attempts to get some kind of food going whilst being distracted endlessly enticing option of sex. Eventually (most often after orgasms, and only occasionally after food) Mitchell would manage to push Anders out the door and off to his PR firm. Finding himself to be alone in the apartment was a rather rare occurrence, and Mitchell wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. It wasn’t that Anders was incapable of getting himself to work, but such events were always heralded by days of copious whinging about early mornings. The silence of the space could only be filled with suspicions of ulterior motives.

At first glance, nothing seemed terribly amiss, but then Mitchell had found the note left on the table.

_Mitchell -_

_I have clients all morning, meet me for lunch._

_2:30 @ De La Mer._

_\- Anders_

 

Misgivings sharpened into pointed chariness. A silent morning and an unexpected lunch date. Something was definitely off. Mitchell slowly picked up the note, moving with slow caution, as though the scrap of paper itself might somehow trigger whatever lay in wait.

As the note was, in fact, only a piece of paper, nothing happened when he picked it up and read it again. There were no hidden messages, nothing else written on the back. Still wary, but unwilling to spurn what appeared to be a rare attempt at “standard romance”, Mitchell put the note back on the table and headed to shower. If he left soon, he could walk the wharf before meeting up with Anders for lunch.

Relaxed by hot water and the familiarity of his favourite combination of worn jeans and eye-searing t-shirt, Mitchell had almost entirely forgotten his earlier wariness. He pulled on a vest and a jacket before getting everything he deserved for letting his guard down.

Mitchell’s outerwear accumulated into a pile on the chair nearest the closet. No matter how often Anders would comment, it never actually ended up on hangers in the space specifically designed for such things. When Mitchell would get home, he’d wander over to to lean on the chair to toe off his shoes. He’d take off his scarf and drape it over the back of the chair before removing his gloves, which he would leave on the arm of the chair, and then promptly cover up with his coat. It was better than a closet, Mitchell would argue, because he never had to go pawing through other people’s coats to find his own. His gloves couldn’t get scattered in pockets and on shelves only to go missing for weeks on end, to be found one at a time, one crammed into the darkest corner of the closet which had inevitably collected the most cobwebs, and the other found in some impossible place like behind the laundry machine. No. This way was certainly better.

Or it had been.

There, underneath his coat, were not his gloves at all. No, these were truly hideous, still wrapped in the thin, shiny plastic packaging. They had the sheen of cheap vinyl, electric blue and black stripes crossing at angles that were probably meant to be “edgy”. The arms of them were edged in more black studded with fake rivets. The cuff of the right glove was adorned by a jawless, white skull that somehow still had eyelashes and was topped with a pink bow. Mitchell was so shocked by the sheer look of it all, that it took him a moment to find the box in the corner, where the name of the product had been printed to appear like notebook paper tacked to a blue board. On it, in jaunty black lettering were the words “FANGTASTIC GLOVELETTES”.

Fangtastic Glovelettes? Fang. Tastic. Glovelettes. Mitchell blinked. Anders was going to be alive for long enough to give up the current location of his gloves- which had better still be fine -and then he was going to die for this. If anything had been done to his gloves, if they weren’t in the exact same condition when he got them back, if a single fibre of yarn was out of place, Anders would feel his wrath.

Mitchell poked at the package, and the plastic crinkled beneath his finger. He flipped it over gingerly - nothing was allowed to happen to the packaging. This was going directly back to whatever hell-hole Anders found it in as soon as Mitchell managed to extract the location of the place. The other side held more enthusiastic boxes of information. “4 pcs” was printed in one corner. In another was a cheerful blue box with white block letters declaring “2 buttons included!”

Mitchell couldn’t help but wonder where the fuck a button would go on gloves, let alone two of them, before he stopped himself. Don’t think about them. Think about revenge.

And the rescue of his actual gloves.

Which were gloves, thank you very much. What the fuck was a glovelette?

With a growl, Mitchell pulled on his coat and shoved the offending package into a pocket. He would not be waiting until lunch to be rectifying this situation. It didn’t matter if Anders actually did have client meetings that morning. Some things were far more important. Some things were sacred.

He stormed out of the flat. He had a mission: for honour, glory, and to get his fucking gloves back.

  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found these at a party store. (I didn't know there were entire stores filled with things specifically *for parties*, but there are, and there's one by my house that is *huge* and I went in and it was a little bit terrifying, but I digress...)
> 
> On the one hand, I thought they were hilarious. On the other hand, I also wanted to write an 8 page essay on marketing campaigns aimed at girls.
> 
> Instead I wrote this. 
> 
> As always, hit me up [on tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vaguetauperamblings/) (Especially with prompts. 'Cause I'm trying those out now.)


	3. Take a Freaking Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason that Mitchell has bizarre hygeine habits...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely and totally inspired by [this post on tumblr.](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/post/142311165667/when-a-vampire-washes-itself-rain-will-fall-from)
> 
> so- essentially working off the idea that in 1927 Romania, it was believed that rain happened because vampires were bathing.
> 
> Un-beta'd, so if you catch anything, please let me know! Con/Crit always welcome!

Anders stepped in through the doorway and shook out his umbrella, glaring at the sky. It hadn’t stopped raining for what felt like a lifetime (even if was really more like five days). Of course it rained in Auckland, but not like  _ this _ . 

Auckland would rain in the morning, be warm enough to warrant air conditioning in the afternoon, turn into a fog-ridden mess for the evening before having a windy and clear night. Auckland was every season in a day. Not some fucking mess of unending, steady, relentless fucking downpour that was everywhere, and unending and starting to really piss him off. Suits were not built for fucking endless rain.

Anders was scowling and growling and headed straight for the kitchen. He needed a drink and then he needed to get into some dry fucking clothes because his leather shoes were nice but not nearly enough to keep his socks dry. He grabbed a bottle of vodka from the freezer and drank straight from the bottle, because he wasn’t about to take any more steps than were absolutely necessary. The squish from the water inside his shoes made his perhorresce with every step.

Mitchell wandered into the kitchen, only to be greeted with a glare. Anders took another long drink before stowing the vodka back in the freezer.

‘Don’t you even say anything.’ Anders growled.

Mitchell raised his hands in innocence. ‘I wasn’t!’

‘Good. Keep it that way.’

Mitchell frowned. Anders did look miserable, standing in the middle of the kitchen shivering. The bottoms of his trousers were clearly soaked, water climbing up the fabric towards his knees.

‘You look cold?’ Mitchell tried.

Anders huffed and crossed his arms. ‘Shut up.’

Mitchell grinned. ‘Well then. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need something stronger to warm you up.’ He raised an eyebrow to emphasize the innuendo dripping out of his mouth. This time when Anders glared, Mitchell could tell it was fake. He rolled his shoulders and gave Anders a cocky look before heading to the bedroom.

It didn’t take very long at all to have them both back in their bed, hearts racing and sweat replacing the damp from the rain.

Anders never even noticed that way that Mitchell’s hair shone in the low-light of the room, freshly washed and glossy.

  
  


******

  
  


‘It’s too bloody hot.’ Anders declared, flopping down onto the couch and loosening his tie to pull it off.

‘We have air con.’ Mitchell pointed out.

‘What if shoot Ty into the atmosphere. That would probably fix everything. I could put him on a plane, make it fly around until he got pissed off enough that it snowed.’

Mitchell bit his lips to keep from pointing out any of the many flaws of that idea.

‘It would solve everything.’ Anders continued. ‘Hey! Do you think Ty could solve global warming? We could just go send him to live in Antarctica or whatever and he could re-freeze all of the glaciers. That would totally work!’

‘I’m pretty sure your brother wouldn’t appreciate being banished to the land of penguins.’

‘Nah, he’d be used to it. He’d probably have more luck with penguins than he does with women.

‘And I’m sure you have nothing at all to do with that.’ Mitchell said, tossing a pillow at Anders.

Anders caught it and glared. ‘Do you have a better idea? Some magical vampire shower to fucking make it rain?’

Mitchell froze. ‘Ehm.’

‘Oh, for fucks sake, Mitchell!’

‘I mean.’

‘Are you telling me vampires can make it rain?’

‘It’s not so much that we make it rain-’

‘Do it now.’

‘Anders-’

‘Nah, I don’t care. Whatever it is. Do it now.’

Mitchell contemplated this for a moment and then grinned brilliantly when he was struck with an idea. ‘You have to join me.’

Anders gave him a suspicious look. ‘And do what, exactly?’

Mitchell stood and grabbed Anders by the wrists, tugging him up from the couch. ‘You’ll love it, I promise.’

‘I don’t like surprises.’

‘How long have you been trying to get me in the shower?’

‘You said you hate shower sex?’

‘Well this is the exception.’ Mitchell said.

Anders paused for a moment, and then Mitchell suddenly found that he was the one being dragged into the bathroom.  
The room was filled with steam, hot water poured over them. They were attached by hot mouths and desperate hands, slick with soap and rough in desperation. Neither of them noticed the roll of thunder from the incoming storm.

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a writing/fandom-ish blog-thing [here](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


End file.
